Own it.

Ran in the chaparral-filled, sagebrush-scented canyons of Mission Trails Regional Park today. The air is so dry here in southern Cslifornia, it took some getting used to.

Highlight of my November occurred late this afternoon descending Cowles Mtn: old guy was picking up trail trash (love that!! What is up with trash on trails here?) and asked me, "Are you an ultrarunner?"

My internal monologue was, "I guess so, technically, I did one ultra, but it was a baby-ultra, not even 50 miles, but I'm doing one soon, and training counts for something, so..."

But aloud, my answer was: "Yep!"

Man: "I thought so! You have that look about you! Good job, trail runner!"

I love that guy.

20 Miles, 10 Miles

The additional few days' rest while my finger healed was a boon to my knee too: last week's daily runs went well and I was able to complete 30 miles in two runs over the weekend!

On Saturday, I ran the complete loop of Trail Around Middlebury, 18 miles of woods, fields and town, then added two more miles of woods at the end. The sun was gorgeous and unusually warm for November in Vermont, but the thick carpet of leaves on the trail is unmistakably late fall. (The trail was hard to follow in some places for all the leaves!)

On Sunday, I ran closer to home through Salmon Hole, Intervale and Ethan Allen Park. The late afternoon light disappeared on the way home.

Nostalgia

The first race bib I ever pinned on was the 2007 inaugural Unplugged Half Marathon in Burlington. There's pride and opportunity for perfectionism in pinning on a race bib so that it's precisely even. Later, I learned to crumple up a fresh, stiff bib into a tiny ball so that the flattened, distressed rectangle hangs soft and quiet from your shirt. (This worked until timing chips were adhered to the backs of bibs.) Most recently, I was helped into the tribe of ultrarunning with advice to fold a bib into the smallest square possible to reveal just your number, no extra space.

I've saved every race bib I've ever run in, and when I had cause to open that box the other night I was surprised to remember races I'd forgotten, and to see bibs whose provenance I couldn't place. The medals are much easier: far fewer of them, designed to be identifiable, and most are pretty to look at and have a pleasant weight when you hold them in the palm of your hand.

Also this week, I donated a pair of shoes that were with me through my single best year yet of running. I trained for and ran two marathons and a few halfs in this pair of Asics, including a PR and a lot miles thinking about Antarctica. I ran in them far past their lifespan, and started to think of them disparagingly as overused and dead toward the end. But this morning when I tossed them in the donation bin, I had to take a moment of anthropomorphized appreciation for all miles I asked of them, and all the adventures they gave me.